


The YouTuber

by fromunderthecorktj



Category: Dan Howell - Fandom, Phan, Phil Lester - Fandom, Self harm - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 23:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10672806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromunderthecorktj/pseuds/fromunderthecorktj
Summary: A short story about some not-so-short things.





	The YouTuber

It hadn't been going on for long. Or, at least, not long enough to be considered an addiction. Every so often her emotions would get too cramped, forcing her to cut them out and set them free. Her arm would cry tears of blood, eyes remaining dry.  
She couldn't feel. Her body felt like an empty husk, slowly deteriorating with every vulgar comment hurled her way. The internet was a beautiful place, but beauty came with a price--she'd felt friendships slip through her fingers as her mind grew steadily darker. Nothing was worth it.  
She no longer fought back; she couldn't ignore it. Every now and then, she'd have a breakdown, determined to feel something even close to emotion. She wasn't bitter, only angry--or, at least, something related. No matter how hard she tried, she always ended up in the same place: the comments. Words kicked her in the stomach, and she'd lay limp on the ground.  
She'd hated herself for it.  
Soon, "hadn't been long" became the rubber band around a wrist, and "every so often" the snap against the skin. Her left arm became a canvas of self-depression, her blade the hate-brush. She soon forgot what it meant to feel human; what it meant to feel anything that wasn't the stinging sensation of freshly cut wounds.  
She'd never used razors--they were traceable. One accidental drawer-opening and she'd be found out--stopped. Instead, she'd use a knife. She'd long ago marked it with a paint stain. If anyone asked, (and she doubted they would) she'd simply tell them she'd had paint on her hands when she'd picked it up. Before she'd even realized what she'd done, the paint had already dried.  
Dan had come into her life six months after it began. Her flatmate, Maya, had introduced them after she'd befriended his best friend, Phil. Maya knew she'd loved his YouTube channel, but didn't seem to grasp the concept that meeting him was her biggest nightmare. She was too disconnected to talk and too awkward to bring up any topic of interest--she knew failure was the only outcome.  
Yet, under some heavenly miracle, she'd succeeded. Dan seemed to tolerate her quiet demeanor as he'd chat about YouTube video prompts and his own feelings of insignificance on the phone late in the evening. Sometimes, if she was in the proper mood, she'd bring up her own topics. Once, he'd made a whole video based on a conversation they'd had about opinions.  
The day he'd asked her on a date had become permanently etched into her mind. She had been at his flat conversing about what do for his next Radio One show, (it wasn't much of a discussion, more Dan rambling on and her occasionally nodding) which he did every month. He'd mentioned something she hadn't heard followed up by a brisk, "Are you dating anyone?"  
She hadn't been fully listening to Dan's banter, so she wasn't sure if this was an actual question or a part of the conversation. She'd gazed at him full in the face, and, without thinking, answered a blunt, "No."  
His face had brightened. She'd held back a chuckle--she hadn't even responded yes to a date, just that there was no one around to threaten her answer.  
"Well then," he'd stared at her sheepishly, "would you like to, uh--" he took a moment to sweep the dark fringe from his eyes "--go on a date sometime?"  
She'd released a stentorian gasp.  
"A-are you sure you want to, uh--" She'd taken one glimpse at Dan's pleading face and sighed, smiling, "I'd love to."  
She could have sworn she'd heard a whoop from Phil's room. Dan had given her a grateful look as she let out a strained chortle. It'd been too long since she'd last felt that warm, jubilant tingle in the back of her throat. She longed to feel it again.  
She did. From that point on, in the back of her mind, there was a feeling. She finally felt that amazing thing she'd always been told about--love. That tenderness in the pit of her stomach when he'd smile. How, despite his monochromatic wardrobe, the room had seemed to light up when he'd walk in. She was addicted to the positive sentiment laced in his husky voice through the telephone in the early hours of the morning. She thought of his warm brown eyes on frigid London nights, drifting her into sleep. She'd hear his laugh ring in her ears through all hours of the day, soothing her heart and calming her mind.  
With Dan now allowed to make romantic advances, she'd felt almost secure. She'd steal his cat ear sweater and ruffle his hair in protest every time he straightened it. She'd helped him with scripts, wrote questions for video collaborations with other YouTubers, and designed merchandise for his and Phil's online store.  
She wasn't happy. Not truly. She'd still felt desolate inside. Her laughs were hollow, she couldn't sleep, the mirror made her stomach pull itself inward until she was deprived of breath. She was all too aware she didn't deserve him. The fact dug at her like a dagger in the brain, a constant reminder of her true inadequacy compared to his ethereal existence.  
The harm didn't stop, just took different forms--burns, scratches, bruises. The feeling of love morphed into something worse--hate and guilt.  
Dan didn't know. He couldn't know. The image of warmth leaving his eyes if he'd found out was her only lasting motivation. It kept her up at night and woke her in the morning. Her eyes carried bags--but never could they amount to the weight in her heart. She couldn't stand knowing she was with him when there were other options--better options.  
Days would go by without her sleeping. She'd even stopped eating, deeming it hopeless. There was a part of her that couldn't fathom Dan being unsuspicious of her delirium. Whatever the reason, she was glad for it.  
It was autumn when it happened. The air was crisp and smelled of pumpkin spice. As Halloween was approaching, she and Dan had been conferring about what he and Phil should make for their next baking-themed video. That was when he'd abruptly kissed her. This was the umpteenth time, of course, causing her stomach to implode and her heart to crack.  
It wasn't the kiss that mattered, however, but the words that followed:  
"I love you." He'd pronounced fondly, looking at her as though she were something in a world of naught.  
The Pandora's Box that was her mind had burst open, freeing the imprisoned emotions confined within. They took control of her eyes, threatening her thoughts with tears; they beat her heart like a drum, accelerating the rhythm until her blood couldn't keep up; they clutched her lungs, robbing her of oxygen and shortening every inhale until they became muffled gasps. How could she let this happen? What was so goddamned hard about making sure he never even thought those words? She'd longed for her blades. She was so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid--  
Her thoughts had drifted away when she'd realized he was still staring at her, nonplussed and panic-stricken.  
"I love y-you too." she'd stammered out quickly, her gut wrenching further when she'd recognized it wasn't a lie.  
Dan had sighed shakily, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She'd returned the gesture unenthusiastically, strangled by sobs.  
She didn't sleep that night. Nor the next. She'd cried until her tear ducts were numb. She'd butchered her arm until it resembled a war zone. Still, she'd felt like a monster. She wouldn't eat. She barely spoke. She'd simply listen to Dan over the phone, not making a sound, as he babbled on about nothing in particular. His voice, posh and articulate as it was, kept her alive, kept that dwindling bit of hope she still clung to from escaping her grip.  
It fell from her grasp.  
She'd waited. Patiently, she'd waited until he had to go. Until he couldn't talk. She'd waited until he couldn't come for her. Until his family called him on holiday and his heart would be too jovial to shatter.  
She'd made her decision. It would happen that night.  
She'd studied the comments on the photos slandered across various social media sites. The ones she'd kept from Dan. The way they called her a cow, a useless freak. As much as it stung, she knew they were right. She knew what had to be done.  
She didn't bother with a note. She doubted it would be much use to anyone. Careful not to wake her sleeping flatmate, she'd hurriedly tiptoed out to the kitchen drawers and grabbed a knife. It didn't matter which one anymore, this would be the final slice.  
Regarding her left wrist for the last time, she'd focused on the one spot without injury--the vein.  
She'd placed the knife on her flesh and slashed deeply, unperturbed by the crimson liquid trickling down her arm.  
Instantly, she'd felt the floor sway under her feet. She was hardly able to carve the other wrist before she'd felt the life slip from her body. Soon, she'd be what she'd felt like--an empty husk.  
It wasn't just blood that drained from the wound, with it came her fear, sadness, hate, and--  
She'd felt a stab of guilt in her deadened state. It clawed at her brain with sharp fingernails and a hideous cry. Wait, her thoughts blurred into one final declaration. I don't want to go. What about--  
"Dan!" She'd exclaimed, shooting upwards involuntarily. Her head had gone white-hot, spreading like wildfire through her veins. She'd groaned, clutching her forehead and crushing her eyelids together forcefully. She'd heard a chair slide across the floor, followed by rushed footsteps approaching in her direction. She'd heard muffled voices--a muffled voice. It was posh and articulate and it made her heart drop.  
"I'm here. I'm here. It's okay. Everything is alright--"  
Her chest pumped. Her stomach lurched. Her breath hitched. Her eyes darted in every direction a compass could display. A hospital. She registered. No, this isn't right. This can't be right, I--  
"Dan, no. You can't--you can't be here. I'm--I'm s-supposed to be dead! Why didn't you leave me to die? I--"  
"Shh, shh..." Dan had held her face in his tremulous grip, calming her nerves.  
"I wanted to die. Why couldn't I have died?" She'd tried to lift her hands, but they grew heavy. She'd glanced down. Bandages. No--  
She whipped head around to face Dan. His eyes were bleary, his hair unruly. He stared at her and nodded sadly.  
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I--" She felt the floodgates burst open as tears poured out in gallons. She'd sputtered out a million apologies and a billion more pleads for death. Dan had no reply as he wrapped his arms around her and held on as though she'd be gone once he'd let go. She didn't hug back. She couldn't bring herself to. She felt the tears dry and her eyes droop as her head lulled into Dan's quivering chest.  
When she'd awoken again, she was on Dan's sofa. She'd felt his signature cushions by her feet and his thumb stroking her forehead. He'd looked down at her, trying to cover his concern with longing. She'd griped. He smiled regrettably.  
She'd coughed. "How long was I out?" Her voice was gravelly and rid of emotion.  
He'd gulped, running his fingers through his hair. "A couple of days--at the hospital. I got there on the second--your flatmate was the one who found you. Called the police, police questioned her and Phil, who she'd called, too. He called me. I took the first train back to London." He squeezed his eyes shut. "You'd lost a lot of blood. Maya applied pressure--thank God she took pre med--until the ambulance came. Even still, they didn't think you'd make it." He glanced around once before staring back at her. "A-after you woke up the first time, the doctor told me--surprisingly--I could take you home, so long as I looked after you. It's been about two hours since." He'd whimpered, gawking at her in woebegone bewilderment. "Wh-what you shouted about in the hospital, d-did you really mean it, about still wanting to die?"  
She'd nodded dolefully. Sparing his feelings no longer seemed to matter.  
Dan shuddered loudly. For the first time since she'd met him, she'd seen an actual tear in his eye--the eyes that lacked their usual warmth, she'd realized with a start.  
I did this to him, a single thought occupied her uncharacteristically silent mind.  
Dan had taken a gander at his phone. "It's time to change your bandages. Do you mind?" He'd asked monotonously, getting up and traipsing toward the kitchen counter. She didn't so much as glimpse upward when Dan sat back down, clutching her left arm shakily. "You cut, right? I never got to see it, I was only told. So, I guess it's now or never." He stated coolly. She'd closed her eyes as Dan carefully unraveled the bloodstained gauze.  
She'd opened her eyes only after she'd heard him convulse backward. "How long?" He'd demanded, horror-struck. That seemed to be the only phrase he could get out of his mouth.  
She'd glanced at her arm--though it could hardly be called that. So many scars and burns peppered her flesh it could hardly be considered skin. All the way from her wrist to her elbow, hate had made its mark. Dan, trembling, lightly grabbed her wrist, gripping it as though it were molten.  
"I--I was going on six months when I m-met you." Her voice was so raspy the words came out like a whisper.  
Dan had done what she'd most feared. He'd begun to cry.  
She'd felt her heart leave her chest when he'd put his forehead to her arm. He'd caressed her skin with his thumb as she shivered, withholding her own sobs.  
She'd sat up, ignoring the pounding in her eardrums. Dan had looked up, eyes red and puffy, and suddenly stood, catching her as she'd slipped backwards. She'd grit her teeth as he'd laid her back down gently.  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." He'd asserted hoarsely, inching closer to her face. He'd set her down on a pillow and began fiddling with his hair absentmindedly, muttering about how terribly light she was. She'd gawped at him.  
I definitely don't deserve him now.  
Without thinking, she brought her defaced palm up to his cheek, wiping what was left of his tears away with her thumb. Dan had grinned dejectedly, taking her hand in his.  
"Would you mind telling me why this--this death idea ever came to mind?" He'd inquired in a soft, serene tone, staring at her patiently. "You're going to have to tell me at some point."  
She'd felt her heart rate quicken slightly. He's right, she'd thought, pulling her hand from his face gently. She'd sat up slowly to match his height. For a split second, she'd seen a look of dread present on his features when she'd blanched slightly.  
She'd gulped. "I would claim it all began six months ago, but I'd be lying. I didn't want to die then, just, maybe... stop existing, if that makes any sense..." She'd sighed deeply at his calm facade--he was holding back a whirlwind of emotions, just to make sure she didn't feel terrible.  
The very thought had repulsed her.  
She'd forced a couple more words out of her throat. "I felt useless, yes, but not... like this. I was just... there. Not really feeling much of anything. A ghost, if you will."  
He'd nodded. She'd continued.  
"Then I met you. I felt... something--I'd finally found someone who shared the same ideas and views as me. I was... contented, I guess. Thrilled, but not happy."  
She'd torn away from Dan's steely gaze and breathed in heavily. "Then... things began to happen. I no longer felt thrilled. I felt guilt and anger and hatred towards the world." She'd swallowed down air, "or, rather, hatred towards myself."  
Dan's eyes had widened, clamping his jaw and silencing his words. He'd appeared awestricken, stupefied, offended. He hadn't seemed able to comprehend the words in his ears.  
"You--you what? You--" His misty umber gaze had shifted from deep incertitude to near hysteria.   
Without warning, Dan's arms had thrown themselves around her neck, evaporating the teardrops in her eyes.  
"I--I don't want--I can't believe I couldn't help you! I can't believe I didn't see the signs--they were there, I--"  
"Dan, honey, it's alright. I forgive you. It's okay." She'd meant every word without doubt or hesitation. "I didn't want you to know. I was careful. This isn't your fault." She'd mumbled softly, "It's mine."  
He'd unraveled his arms from her waist and gave her a muddled look before seizing her lips with his own.  
He pulled her close. Closer. Until there was no room to breathe--not that it mattered. All she'd wanted was to stay locked in this position forever--to let time freeze over until it stopped. Until the only feeling in the world was the soft movement of her lips against his.  
It couldn't last. Her guilt had risen as he'd pulled apart breathlessly, cradling her chin in his fingers and examining her closely, as though she were a cube of marble and he the sculptor. "You haven't been eating, have you?" He’d asked in a low voice.  
She had not needed to reply. It hadn't been a question. She'd chewed her lip--the closest thing she'd done to eating since before the hospital--regarding Dan with a nonpartisan expression, "Obviously not." She'd replied dully, swiping over her skeletal physique. Skin stretched over bone like a tapestry, one depicting such a loathing only the sight could properly describe.  
Dan had his palm against her cheek, his thumb grazing her lower lip and his eyes--his warm, pure, beautiful brown eyes--looked into hers, unblinking. His gaze was soft, like looking at her wasted away, fatigued face somehow melted all his troubles. The right side of his mouth quirked upwards slightly, empathizing the dimples she so often found herself ogling at. His picturesque, betrayed, puzzled, concerned, livid face that filled her with purpose. With hope. The face that he not only taught her what love is but how to feel it. The face that made her feel unworthy to have his affection. That dried her tears despite any emotion running through her mind, or lack thereof. She was so infatuated with this face. With this man. It broke her, but he picked up the pieces. A bittersweet contradiction that broke down her walls. A man that, no matter how hard she tried, wouldn't stop looking at her like he felt the same way. And, at this point, she didn't care why. All she wanted was him by her side for the rest of eternity.  
"Promise me you'll never go away." It was hard to believe how much pain a whisper could hold. "I don't--I won't live without you." He’d stated defiantly, his voice dripping with truth.  
She'd found herself grinning. A pure, genuine expression of an ecstasy she only felt in Dan's arms. She'd instantly forgotten the paint-stained knife and the sleepless nights. She'd forgotten the seething hatred caused by looking in a mirror. She'd forgotten the pain. The emptiness. It wasn't there. There was only Dan. He was all that mattered.  
"I promise."


End file.
